Beauty
by SirSigil
Summary: Beauty is a curious thing. They say it is in the eyes of the beholder. Yet sometimes it takes a lifetime to truly find. (M Cousland / Anora).


**Beauty**

Aedan Cousland was brought up surrounded by finery. As the second son of one of the most powerful families in Ferelden, he could hardly have had anything less. He quickly grew used to it. It was an expectation to have juiciest meats and the finest wines for his meals. The sharpest tutors in the land fought to keep his mind sharp and showed him the wonders of the world through their books. The most fearsome swordsmen came to hone his skill with the blade and regaled him with the spectacular tales of their adventures.

It all became normal to him, mundane even. The beautiful gifts he received became predictable, and the exceptional services he expected were not held up in awe and honour. No wonder could touch his heart. It all became mundane.

Yet even he was blown away by true beauty when he saw it.

xxx

It first happened when he was still a young lad, barely into his teens really. He had been dragged from the familiar confines of his home to bear witness to the crowning of the new King and Queen. He had tugged irritably at his collar and his mother had glowered at him furiously for it. His brother Fergus was much better behaved. As the heir to the Terynir of Highever, he had to be.

Such a lofty role was never expected of Aedan, so why should he be held to the same standards? Aedan didn't even understand why he had to be there. He was just one more noble's son among the few hundred that had gathered from across Ferelden's cities and Bannorn, come to see their new rulers stand before and above them.

_It is tradition_, his father had said, _it was expected and it would be done_, and that was that.

He remembered how he had stood near the centre of the aisle in the palace's grand hall. He was swaying back and forth in his tight boots to alleviate the pressure and boredom, when all of a sudden, it happened. The trumpets played their raucous fanfare, the quiet chatter and gossiping of the nobility died immediately, and all eyes around him turned to the back of the chamber. Aedan turned with them, unable to see anything through the throng of fine doublets and dresses. Gradually, they bowed and curtsied. All of them, from the lowliest knight to the mightiest Arl, and even his mother and father.

Then, there she was.

Her face was nearly as young as he was. Yet she strode between those almighty figures with all the strength and confidence of Andraste herself. Her dress was plain yet graceful, somehow it served to accentuate her own splendour rather than draw the eye to the garment itself. Her smile radiated an elegant, regal beauty, one befitting a Queen. There was a certain sharpness to her, something about her manner that didn't invite. But Aedan suppose that even roses had thorns.

She turned his way, one arm spinning a delicate wave to the crowd as the other was linked with her husband, the King. Her piercing gaze graced Aedan for a second, just a second, and he felt his heart skip a beat.

His father had kicked him gently in the shin with a grumble and the boy eventually remembered to bow. Yet even the disapproving scoffs that touched his ears could not douse the fire in his heart. He had just witnessed his Queen Anora for the very first time.

He knew then, in that moment, that he would be her most faithful servant forever.

xxx

Long after the coronation, he eventually forgot the fire that took hold of his heart that day.

The passage of time and brutal experience had tempered the feelings in his breast to a more pragmatic nature. The destruction of his home at the hands of an old ally was a bitter pill to swallow. It made the young Cousland despondent and cynical. No more would he be the carefree young lad who was never expected to taste real responsibility. Stripped of his home, his titles, everything that made him who he was, he'd set out on a new path, one with vengeance and blood as its goal. As soon as it was born, it was put aside. This new fire in his heart was caged by duty and necessity.

A great evil swarmed his homeland. The Blight. He was but one of two defenders who could put an end to the chaos. Two warriors, alone, against an endless horde. If they did not stand their ground, the whole world would be torn asunder.

And so he fought.

The Blight consumed everything, all land, all people, all beauty. In the bleakness, he learned how to appreciate his work. His sword, the brush. The battlefield, the canvas. His enemies blood, the paint.

He made masterpiece after masterpiece of war and death. So many corrupted corpses were rendered slain for his art. So often there was little else that could be saved.

It was brutal and bloody and horrific.

It had its own sort of beauty, in a way.

His travels led him across all of Ferelden. His exposure to life in the flesh was nothing like the books and scrolls he'd been forced to study and the tales of better men he'd clung to. The young Cousland's eyes were opened to the true natures of the land and its people. He found himself doing things he never would have dreamed of.

He fought to protect people who once would have served him.

He slept in pits and gulley's he once would never have even spat in.

He sacrificed his needs for those who once would have bowed to him and served at his every whim.

He learned, slowly, how to care for others and not just himself.

Yet he also found the hideous face of his country.

Even without the Blight, Ferelden was a sick land, afflicted by injustices and brutalities and hatred.

His path led him to Denerim once more. Where once there were throngs of happy people throwing confetti in celebration, there was now poverty and destitution. Conspiracies, torture, slavery, murder, the once majestic capital had turned into a cesspit of evil.

The young Cousland had cut a bloody swath through it all. He struggled to tell the difference between the blood of the innocents, the blood on his sword and the blood in his veins.

There was no more beauty in the world.

xxx

Maybe it was chance, but he found his Queen once more. Her gaze was heavier now. Time had not been kind to her any more than it had to him. The lines around her face had hardened, her tone clipped. She was still young and beautiful, but the purity of innocence had long since faded.

Aedan barely even remembered the woman he had fallen for long ago.

Fate decreed that he be her rescuer. He brought her to a place of safety and there they planned their next steps. The young Cousland did not know what she truly meant to their cause. Would they be allies, or would the young Queen prove a liability? Her father after all, was the one, great obstacle between him and his destiny as a warden. He loathed to think what part she had to play in Loghain's plans. Even so, he went to her when called.

The Queen summoned the once spoilt lord, and laid out her plans to retake her throne.

The Cousland wanted nothing to do with it all, and set out his plans for securing the kingdom before the onslaught of the Blight swarmed them all.

They quarrelled and argued.

She could not see the need to put politics aside and fight the immediate threat upon them, nor the evils her father had unleashed on the land.

He could not see the need for establishing long term stability for threats yet to show themselves, nor the need for steady, even hand steering the kingdom.

Yet despite it all, they both agreed that something had to be done to protect their shared homeland. The country that had raised them both, they loved. They had that much in common at least. They found they both cared for the people. They both saw the darkness that lurked behind the other's eyes. They both saw that there was more that united them than not. They parted amicably.

She thanked him for her rescue. She smiled.

When she smiled, Aedan was back in that palace once more, watching her float down the aisle like an angel. A beautiful angel. None of the hard years, none of the bloodshed, and none of the pain and the horror had ever happened.

Anora was surprised when he smiled in return.

xxx

The final hour came quicker than the young Cousland expected. The lords not already slain in the chaos were brought together for the Landsmeet. The future and fate of the kingdom was to be decided.

It was a narrow thing.

In the end, the Queen's father had to die. His crimes were too strong to ignore, no matter the threat that knocked at the capital's door.

Yet it was not the young Cousland who delivered the final blow.

All the years seeking vengeance and blood. All the dead bodies that littered the way. All the terrors that had occurred in the name of peace and justice. In the end, it was all ended for the young Cousland abruptly, by another's hand.

Alistair, the man who would be king, took the grisly honour upon himself. He swiftly separated the usurper's head from his shoulders.

For that, the Queen hated him dearly. She railed against her brother by marriage. Her wrath only bettered by her tears.

For that, Aedan was silently grateful. He should hate to draw her wrath. Such a beautiful face should not be made to hate so.

He didn't dare say such a thing.

xxx

The war was won. The darkspawn were driven back to their pits and the Archdemon lay dead. The country had lived while many had died. The blood of the people had run free, yet it could have been so much worse. And so the bloodied and brutalised land looked to the future.

The Queen looked to take her rightful place on her throne. Yet she would not do so alone.

The young Cousland entered the palace once more, this time, as she had done all those years ago. The lords turned their gaze his way now, expectant, curious, dismissive, envious. He strode forth, caring not for a single one of them, eyes only for his Queen.

He knelt when he reached her. She murmured the words of tradition, proclaimed him prince of the realm.

Then he stood, and, for the first time in his life, Anora's eyes were only for him.

And his eyes remembered a youthful beauty.

xxx

The weeks and months that followed were challenging. Not just from the devastation left by the Blight, nor the civil war and domestic strife that threatened to buckle the kingdom from within.

The Queen was used to ruling alone, and so she continued to do so. More than once, Aedan caught her in the midst of meetings and planning with the nation's courtiers without him. They quarrelled and argued, both with such ferocity that none dared intervene.

Rumours whirled that strife would soon return to the land, that it was a miracle the nation was not into drawn into another civil war.

Yet somehow, the two rulers came to an understanding. After one such argument, the Queen dragged her new husband to a private room. There, she set out her terms. Matters military would be left to him. Matters politic would be her domain. Anything else or in between? Hers as well. Naturally.

He laughed. Told her she could not expect him to agree to such terms. Then, he stole a kiss.

She was beautiful when she was being demanding after all.

xxx

The young King or Prince-Consort sought to make his own mark on the kingdom. He left the capital, leading expeditions to drive out the last remnants of the darkspawn threat. He rebuilt the warden order in Ferelden, saved the land from a dire new threat and made new legends for himself.

When he returned to Denerim, it was to a hero's welcome. People lined the streets to see the Hero-Prince. He was simply surprised the whole city had not been upturned in his absence.

Perhaps she had grown fonder of him in his absence, for Anora welcomed him back as well, with a smile no less.

The Queen broached the subject of royal issue. The kingdom could not be ruled by the two of them forever, after all. A successor was needed, to quell the treasonous whispers of the day as well as the morrow.

Aedan reminded her of his condition, that he was unlikely to ever father a child.

She scowled at his words, as if thinking he was trying to get out of this, most private of royal duties.

He laughed.

She scolded.

They argued.

They tumbled into bed together.

It was all perfect.

xxx

It was several years before it happened.

Many had assumed one or more of the royal couple were barren, or else hated each other enough to not even contemplate sharing the same bed. They made plans, contingencies, and lined up favoured successors and puppets. It was all for nought.

At last, Anora was with child. The pregnancy went well.

A girl. A daughter. A Princess was born in Bloomingtide, near Summerday.

The court rejoiced. The kingdom rejoiced. None more so than Aedan.

That moment when he walked into the bedchamber, seeing his wife in bed holding his new born daughter, was the most beautiful moment of his whole life.

He wandered over, he barely knew how. The Prince reached out for his daughter. He took her in his arms. So light she was, so fragile and so amazing. He sat on the bed, Anora at his side. Aedan pressed a kiss to his queen's lips.

His family, his family was so beautiful.

xxx

The years passed by. Crises came and went, threats rose and were quelled. The union of Commander and Queen proved a strong one. The whispers of treason died down. Their lips soon realised they would not drive the royal couple to ruin through spurious rumour. The kingdom had seldom known such peace.

The Prince revelled in those days of tranquillity.

His Princess grew strong and quick and he was proud.

His Queen never lost her sharpness nor her beauty and he was in love.

But his blood grew restless and his thoughts clouded and he was pained.

The taint that he consumed to end the greatest of all foes now fought against him. He knew his time was coming. The disease his body had held at bay for so long was now consuming him from within.

The once young Cousland sought to confide in his Queen. It was only right. He could not vanish to the darkest reaches of the world without a final word.

He was almost as surprised to find tears in her eyes as he was to find tears in his own.

The last night they spent together was oh so bittersweet.

xxx

In the morn, he left for Orzammar. It was barely dawn when he left the city, there was no fond farewell from the city he had once saved. There was only his small family. That was all he needed.

He made his way to the dwarven mountains. Welcomed with honour, the Warden-Prince had one last feast held in his honour before descending to the dark below. He tasted none of the fine meats and fruit on his tongue. He didn't know if it was the curse in his blood or that he was already dead.

He forged into the Deep Roads. He made his life a dear one indeed. So many darkspawn were felled by his hand. Deeper he marched. He did not know how far he eventually reached when his strength and sword finally failed him.

As he lay bleeding one last time, he didn't even see the horde that surrounded him. He didn't see the ogre that hefted the club that ended his life.

He saw his parents and brother, long since dead. They waited for him with warm smiles and wet eyes.

He saw his daughter, the Princess, so young and full of life. He was grateful she should not suffer the same path he had.

He saw Anora, his wife, his Queen. Her strength would carry her through the dark days to come. She would guide their child well, he knew.

Even at the end, surrounded by it all, he saw no evil or hatred or corruption.

He saw nothing but beauty.


End file.
